


Dear Dad

by WhatBecomesOfYou



Category: American Girls Books - Various Authors, American Girls: Molly - Various Authors
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatBecomesOfYou/pseuds/WhatBecomesOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her first week in Vietnam, Molly finds the time to write a letter home to her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Dad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boosette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boosette/gifts).



> So, funny story: I had your letter bookmarked to write a Molly treat for you for Yuletide, because Molly was my very first American Girl doll and thus she has a very special place in my heart. That obviously didn't get written in time, but then I saw that you were my Yuletide author, and it made me all the more determined to write something for your fandom_stocking.
> 
> (I'm still working on a Felicity/Sleepy Hollow crossover thing, but I don't think I'll get that done in time for fandom_stocking. If I ever finish it, I'll let you know!)

“Dear Dad,” Molly wrote, and she put the pen down. How could she tell him how much his war experiences meant to her now, now that she was off following in his footsteps? She rubbed at her eyes, bleary from a lack of sleep, but pressed on with her writing. After all, she hadn't had very much time to herself as of late, and she needed to cherish the moment while it lasted.

“I started at the field hospital last week. Our men are brave, and fighting hard, but they come in so damaged that it can be hard to take.” She pursed her lips. She knew how bad the fighting was, because unlike when she was growing up, she could turn on the nightly news and see images from the war. By contrast, she was used to going to the cinema and watching newsreels, or listening to the radio, for the newest updates. It was a difference – one that completely shaped how she viewed the war.

“I can hardly look at their gaping wounds and not think of their families back home.” She knew that her family was anxious for word from her – she knew that Jill's oldest was keen on serving, if the war lasted long enough, and she couldn't help but imagine his face superimposed on some of the men she was helping to save. It was one thing when the faces were strangers, but another thing entirely when the faces could have been any boy, from any town. There was a boy from Mount Vernon on her watch, and that was close enough to home for her to be comfortable with.

“I don't regret coming out here.” She only had to look to her father's courageous service in the war, doing what he did, to make her choice all that much more clear. She knew the service of patriotism, even in contrast to the fact that this war was not that popular, comparatively to what she was used to. She would serve her country, serve it with dignity and honor, serve it until her fingers bled from overwork. Because that's who she was: an American, born in the Great Depression, bred by the war in Europe, and formed with a steely resolve to do what was right.

“It's hard, but it's the right thing to do. You taught me that. For that, I thank you.” When her father had come back from the war, that had been the one piece of wisdom that he had imparted to her: _do right by your country and you will do right by everyone else_. The smile was still there, but faded, and the spark from his wit was gone, but he was still her father. Somehow, she had managed to take his advice to heart, even as she finished her medical residency on the brink of another war. It was an easy decision, albeit one she didn't make with haste. After all, she had a husband and a daughter named Emily waiting back home for her.

“The jungles here in Vietnam are a lot different than your service in England, I'm sure.” She brushed her hand against her hair. It was shorter now than when she was a child, easier to maintain than the long braids it had once been in, but it was still nevertheless just as stick-straight as it had always been. Oh, how she longed for the tales of jungle-induced humidity causing hair to frizz to come true. She would take even the frizziest of curls at this point, for a change of pace.

From somewhere in the distance, she could hear a man calling out with frantic desperation, “Dr. McIntire, come, quick!” 

With a quick jot, she signed off on the letter, “I have to go for now, but I'll write more later. Duty calls. Send my love to Mom and everyone. Love, Molly.” She looped the end of her y, stuck the letter under a book on her desk, and grabbed the portable medical kit that sat by her bed. She'd put it in the mail later; for now, she had to see what the pressing emergency was. The other letters that she had promised could wait for later: her husband and both of the most important Emilys in her life, one her daughter, the other, a dear old friend.

She knew that her father would be proud of her, if he could only see her now.


End file.
